


Eye to Eye

by hatebeat



Series: Daddy's Boys [4]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatebeat/pseuds/hatebeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan needs glasses, and maybe a little more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye to Eye

He'd gotten the rest of the band's contract renewals squared away. Toki and William had their own contracts which designated them as live performers only, freeing them from any writing responsibility. Skwisgaar and Pickles' contracts were those of writers and live musicians and studio musicians. Nathan's was the only one whose was unique. As the band leader, he had a few extra clauses, and a little bit more power, along with just slightly higher earnings. He always met one-on-one with Nathan to discuss his contract renewal, but dragging Nathan into his office to actually get it done was always a chore. Unfortunately, Nathan tended to avoid him as much as possible when it came to doing anything that resembled actual work.

He'd had the rest of the boys' contracts squared away for over a week when he finally coerced Nathan into his office.

"There have been some changes this year, the most important being line twelve of page three--"

"Yeah, whatever, just tell me where to sign it," Nathan grunted, flipping through the pages in annoyance. 

Charles raised an eyebrow and eyed Nathan over the top of his glasses. "I'd advise you to pay attention to all this stuff. It's not a, ah, wise business move to just blindly sign legal documents without paying attention to the fine print."

Nathan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So what? You never fucked us over before, probably not gonna start now."

"Hm. You realise that there are many people out there, businessmen like myself, for example, who are out to take advantage of you...?"

Nathan shrugged. "Are you?"

"No, Nathan, I'm not. But what if there's a day when you need to deal with this kind of thing when I'm not around?" Charles asked plainly. He didn't intend for such a day to ever come, but if he was ever separated from his boys, he wanted them to still be able to hold their own without him.

"I don't think that's gonna happen."

Charles sighed. "The bottom of page six."

"Huh?"

"I need you to sign there, on page six."

Nathan shuffled the papers around until he got to page six, eyes scanning the page. "Where?"

"Down there, where it says signature." Charles waved vaguely toward the bottom of the page.

"Here?" Nathan asked, squinting at the page hard, but he was pointing at the line above. 

Charles eyed Nathan over the top of his glasses, examining the perplexed look on his face, and he raised an eyebrow. He reached across the desk and put his finger down next to the line, and in a huff, Nathan signed it next to it, grumbling as he did so.

"There." Nathan's nostrils flared slightly. "Is that all?"

"Not quite. If you'll turn to page thirteen..." Nathan shuffled the papers, but when Charles realised he was counting up from page six, he did his best to repress a sigh. "I'll need you to initial here, here, and here, then sign at the bottom."

"Ugh, can't you do this for me?" Nathan complained.

"No, Nathan. I can't. It wouldn't be, ah, legal, first of all," Charles patiently explained.

"So what? You do illegal stuff all the time. It's metal."

Charles wouldn't bother contesting with his client that the things he did, while frequently bordering being morally acceptable, were always quite legal. Or at least, they appeared to be on the surface. That was his job, after all. 

"Just sign it," Charles sighed.

Nathan put his pen to the paper, but he signed below the signature line, then shoved the stack of paper across the desk at Charles without initialing it as Charles had instructed.

"Can I go now?" Nathan asked, but Charles was paused in thought. 

"Nathan, I think you might need glasses."

Nathan's face twisted up in confusion. "What do you.... why do you say that, I mean, you don't know that. I can see just fine. I drive and stuff."

"Yes, Nathan. You have no trouble seeing things that are further away from you. But you can't read these papers at all, can you?" Charles asked, trying his best not to sound accusatory. Had this man never had his eyes checked before?

Nathan made a mumbling sound of non-commitment, glaring at something over Charles' left shoulder, and Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

"I'm going to set up an appointment for you with an optometrist."

"No no no no," Nathan protested, disgust creeping onto his face. "I am _not_ getting glasses, okay. Glasses aren't _metal_ \- how am I supposed to be the leader of the most brutal band in the world with _glasses_?"

Charles did roll his eyes then. "You likely only need them for reading, and--"

"Okay, but who the fuck cares about reading?"

"And if you did need them otherwise, you could always wear contacts."

\---

It was a week later when Nathan sat before his desk again, perched in agitation before the contract on the wood finish. This time, he had his new glasses on his face. Nathan had plainly threatened to kill Charles if he told anyone.

"Now that you can see what you're signing, there are still a few things to discuss," Charles told him. "If you'll turn to page thirteen..."

He was pleased to see that Nathan made his way there without having to count the pages this time, even if he grumbled under his breath the whole way there.

"There are a few articles that still need your attention- above where you signed. See, there, on the left."

"I-I... nite-ee-al? Hey. What the hell does this say?"

Charles resisted the urge to press his face into his hands in frustration. "Initial, Nathan. You need to initial next to each clause."

Nathan muttered something, but he initialed off on each line, and actually made it on the line this time, so that was... _something_ , at least.

"You can see alright with your new glasses, right?" Charles asked, double-checking. 

"Yeah," Nathan growled defensively, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. "I can see just fine. What is it with you, always nagging at me. It's like you're like my fucking mom or something, _ugh._ "

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Well, despite your new-found visual clarity, you still seem to be having trouble making out this contract-"

"I can't fucking read, okay!" Nathan burst out angrily at him, although Charles must have hit a serious nerve to have gotten Nathan to come out and admit it. And even if it was surprising, well. It wasn't _that_ surprising, he supposed.

But still, it raised some questions. "Your parents never taught you to read when you were a child? How did you get through school?"

"You can back off if you're fucking judging me. Just because you have your fancy fucking degrees and shit doesn't mean you're better than me."

"I, ah, didn't say that I was, Nathan," Charles said patiently. Whether he could read or not, Nathan was certainly a talented individual. That much couldn't be disputed. 

"I didn't, uh. I didn't talk much as a kid," Nathan admitted. "And uh, I guess, I dunno, my parents tried to teach me, but I wasn't really into it. And I didn't really _do_ school. I had better things to do," Nathan muttered, looking away at the floor.

Charles had a feeling that some of those 'better things' had something to do with Nathan's record, which as Dethklok's legal representation, Charles was well aware of. Nothing too scarring given that he was a minor when each of the incidents occurred. However, it was still something to be aware of.

"Well, it's never too late to learn," Charles decided with a sigh.

Nathan laughed at that, an awkward laugh of surprise. "You don't learn to read when you're an adult."

"I don't see why you can't. It might be a little more difficult than if you were a child," especially given the brain damaging hobbies his boys regularly engaged in, "but it's not impossible."

"So, what, you're going to hire like a teacher or something to come in here? No thanks, man. I fucking hate teachers. Besides, what if they went off and ran their fucking mouths and then everyone found out that I couldn't read. You know what that would look like- I'm _Nathan Explos_ \--"

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Charles interrupted. 

"What?"

"I'm just saying, well. I could teach you. Perhaps."

Nathan was quiet for a moment, and Charles watched him wrestle with his pride. Nathan didn't have to say it out loud for Charles to grasp that the reason Nathan had never admitted this defect was due to shame. Out of nowhere, it suddenly made sense to Charles why he never saw the lyricist writing on a pad of paper, just recording his ideas via tape recorder.

"Okay," Nathan said finally. "But don't fucking tell _anyone_ or I will fucking stab you."

"Noted."

"Not even the guys. _Especially_ not the guys."

"Your secret is safe with me, Nathan," Charles assured him.

\---

Charles had contacted one of the Klokateers from the online department, one that worked PR with the more creative members of Dethklok's fanbase. As it was more her area of expertise, he commanded her to fabricate some stories that were simple enough for a child, but were interesting enough to keep Nathan Explosion's attention, which meant stories revolving around Dethklok or other things he would deem just as brutal. Charles couldn't think of anything that Nathan would admit was more brutal than his own band, however.

And so it began. Every morning just after Nathan ate breakfast, he spent a half hour in Charles' office, reading.

"And that was how," Nathan struggled, his voice sounding semi-robotic, "Dethklok sue... sum. Summon...ed," Nathan looked at Charles for confirmation. "Summoned a lake troll."

Charles turned the page.

"Eve... everyone in Finland was mort.... mortif... mortified. Mortified, right? Heh, they sure were. The troll ran ra... Uh..."

"Rampant," Charles offered.

"Oh. Rampant. Ran rampant in the... streets, killing and rave... age.... Ravaging, ravaging the t-towns."

"There isn't an S on the end of that."

"Oh, right. Ravaging the town."

Nathan stopped and sighed, loudly and deeply.

"Bored already?" Charles asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Nathan complained, a hint of a whine in his guttural voice. 

Charles glanced at the clock. "That's fine. You made it forty minutes this time. Good work today, Nathan."

Nathan got to his feet and left his book on Charles' desk, and he left the room without another word. Charles carefully tucked both copies of the book away in the bottom drawer of his desk and locked it. Nobody but Charles had to know that Nathan Explosion, most brutal lead singer in the world, was working to better himself.


End file.
